


Winter Warmth

by merry_amelie



Series: Academic Arcadia [40]
Category: Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-01-30
Updated: 2005-01-30
Packaged: 2018-02-05 00:00:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1798090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merry_amelie/pseuds/merry_amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn and Ian discover the coziness of a nearby ski lodge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winter Warmth

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback: Is treasured at merryamelie@aol.com (or leave a comment).
> 
> Disclaimer: Mr. Lucas owns everything Star Wars. I'm not making any money.
> 
> For Alex, my friend and beta.
> 
> Many thanks to Ula for her beta work.

  
[Capurnia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Capurnia)'s beautiful manip

After getting sidetracked by The Wayfarers' Inn in October, Ian and Quinn finally made it to Hotham on the day after a Christmas spent with their respective families, this time by Audi. Having shared their first Thanksgiving, spending the day apart was even more difficult than last year. However, they were determined to enjoy their holiday together, despite its perforce delay.

One of the benefits of living in New York State was the plethora of winter sports available. The men wanted to try cross-country skiing, and had heard that Hotham was a veritable winter paradise.

So it was that they booked a room at the Echo Ski Lodge, about an hour's drive from Landowe. The resort turned out to be an oversized log cabin set among pines and firs in an inviting snowscape. When making the reservations, Ian had been sure to request two beds, unwilling to await the innkeeper's judgment this time.

The men were given keys at the desk, and made their own way to a corner room on the top floor. Quinn opened the door to two double beds covered in layers of blue and green tartan quilting, a fieldstone fireplace blazing merrily, faced by a couch flanked by two easy chairs, a television atop an oaken dresser, with matching nightstands and square lamp table. The well-stocked mini refrigerator and sink bar formed the boundary between bedroom and bathroom. A Christmas tree decorated with blue and green satin bows, just a bit taller than Quinn, stood in the corner to the right of the fireplace. A grinning Ian took their gifts out of the duffel, and put them under the tree. Quinn glanced in the bathroom, to find a hot tub, shower stall, commode, and sink. 

They reunited at the windows, pushing aside the heavy curtains that matched the bedding, giving the room an insulated feel, perfect against the freeze just outside the glass. The view was breathtaking: a panorama of hills and valleys, carpeted in powder. They could see the ski jump, as well as slopes of varying incline. The cross-country runs formed straightaway paths through frosted evergreens, and looked especially inviting to them.

Wintertime brought with it many joys: one was bundling up; another shedding outerwear for the greater warmth of the fireside.

Quinn's eyes gleamed as he started to remove Ian's layers of clothing. First to come off was the colonial blue cable-knit scarf. Quinn ran his fingers over its softness, remembering the February day Ian had come in from a cold evening, ready to be heated up in the best possible way. In the bedroom a few moments later, he'd taken this very scarf, chilled from the outdoors, warmed by his hand, and wrapped it around Quinn's bare thigh, tugging gently and smiling as Quinn's long legs parted for him. Quinn felt gooseflesh forming on those legs at the mere memory of it.

Somehow, the fringes of Ian's scarf felt particularly good on Quinn's skin. He recalled Ian brushing them over his cheeks and chest, the braided wool tingling along his skin in a way he could not explain.

Even with gloves on, Ian's hands didn't completely cover Quinn's on the scarf as he petted them. Ian could see the delicious reminiscence in his lover's eyes, and felt exactly the same. "Plenty of time to play this weekend," Ian said huskily, making Quinn's eyes sparkle.

Next to go were Ian's gloves, the soft suede caressing Quinn's hands as he removed them, finger by finger. The smell of the leather blended with the clean scent of their Christmas tree in a pleasing seasonal sachet. Quinn put both scarf and gloves on his nightstand for later use.

Then he turned his attention to Ian's hat, one of a pair Jo had knitted for them over Thanksgiving weekend, Ian's light blue, his own wintergreen. Quinn plucked it off by the crown, leaving Ian's tawny hair in a greater state of disarray than usual. It had risen to the occasion, thanks to static electricity, and Quinn tenderly smoothed it down with his palms.

He started to unfasten the sturdy plastic zipper of Ian's navy parka. A mixture of romantic and paternal feelings, which Ian seemed made to evoke in him, rushed through Quinn as the zip inched down. 

Ian's brown fleece cardigan came into view, slightly faded with innumerable washings. When the jacket was completely open, Quinn eased it over Ian's shoulders, turning it into an embrace. He closed his eyes when his lips touched Ian's, and after a moment felt his own scarf being unwound. He opened them to see Ian's 'unwrapping a present' smile.

Quinn's gloves were already in his jacket pocket, so Ian reached up to pull off the wintergreen hat, and rubbed it against Quinn's cheek, grinning as he leant into the caress.

"Mmmm. Turnabout's fair play, is it, lad?" Quinn said, Ian's playfulness literally rubbing off on him.

Next was Quinn's matching parka, which took a bit longer than Ian's to unzip completely. Inch by inch, Quinn's Aran pullover was revealed, grown more fuzzily comfortable with each winter of use. The parka joined the pile on the bed.

Down to sweaters and flannel-lined jeans, they exchanged their Williamsburg boots for moccasins. Ian led Quinn to the couch by the fire, and pressed in for an inquiring taste of his lips, to which Quinn responded almost chastely. He looked at Quinn in the firelight. Tiny lines wrote the story of the semester on his face, and Ian urged Quinn to put his head on Ian's lap. As the quiet of the afternoon nestled around them, he threaded his fingers through Quinn's hair, until light snores filled the room.

Ian smiled indulgently; he'd hoped that their vacation would be restful after the hectic rush of finals. This was just what they needed. He settled back into the sofa cushions, and was snoring himself within moments.

Ian was awakened a few hours later by Quinn stirring on his lap; he reached his hands up to cup Ian's face, and pulled him down for a kiss. "Mmmm. Sleep certainly agrees with you, love." Ian nipped Quinn's nose.

"You too, Ian," said Quinn in a gravelly voice.

Ian stretched, giving Quinn a preview of tense muscle under him. "Ready for our presents?"

Quinn was suddenly more awake. "Are you kidding?" 

Both men scrambled to the tree and handed each other small packages, which they opened together.

Quinn crowed as he held up a digital camera, perfect for taking pictures of his lad. "Oh, Ian. This is exactly what I wanted." He grabbed Ian in a bear hug, and didn't let go until he'd kissed him soundly.

Then Ian picked up his partly unwrapped gift and tore the rest of the paper off, to find a portable DVD player. He returned Quinn's kiss and added another. "Thank you! I love it. This is gonna be great for our Amtrak trips."

"Somehow, I thought our train rides couldn't be improved upon," Quinn teased.

Ian saw the glint in Quinn's eyes and chuckled, Quinn's rich laugh harmonizing with Ian's own. "You're absolutely right."

After the adrenalin rush of the presents, the men decided on a walk. Ian banked the fire and pulled on the boots Quinn handed him. The layers of clothing went back on much faster than they'd been shed. It was almost 3 pm, so the men had about an hour and a half of sunlight left. They wanted to explore the area to the north of the lodge, which was out of view from their corner room. 

Ian and Quinn found a well-shoveled path around a frozen lake used for ice skating. The men hadn't been able to go with Kathy and Monty a few weeks back, since their paper wasn't finished by that Thanksgiving Sunday. They decided to try it now after spotting the bungalow the lodge maintained for the sale and rental of skis and skates. 

All laced up and ready to go, Ian and Quinn ventured onto the ice. Their neophyte status gave them the opportunity to cling to each other for much-needed support without embarrassment. The same thing was going on all around them with families and friends.

During their first pass across the lake, Quinn's arm eased around Ian's waist until he felt his skates were under him. The touch warmed them even through their bulky parkas. This was their first public embrace; they had never touched that way even in front of the indulgent Prentices. Not an eyelash batted. The feeling of freedom they'd earned on July 4th thrilled into them again in this colder clime.

Thankfully, their balance and coordination were superb, so the two easily adapted to the blades and started stroking over the ice, scarves flying. Since they were on a lake and not an indoor rink with its Zamboni and controlled temperature, there were some imperfections in the ice cover that caused a few stumbles, but the men were quick to place a steadying hand on an elbow when needed, and sometimes even when not.

They skated for about an hour, growing more confident with each pass across the ice. Then the two returned the skates and rambled around the path circling the lake until they weren't sure if there were icicles or fingers under their gloves.

In the lobby, Ian's eye was caught by the games on a bookshelf. He grabbed a box of dominoes, and shook it jauntily. Quinn's amused blue gaze left him craving the pitched battle to come. A scuffed guitar leaned against the shelf, asking to be played. The men checked out both for the day.

When they got back to the room, Quinn couldn't even wait to get their jackets off before kissing Ian's cheeks, glowing from happiness and December air. To save time, the men took their own winterwear off this time, hanging it on the wall pegs. They also unpacked the duffels, an easy task given their usual minimalism.

Ian stoked the fire, which they intended to use for more than just warmth that evening. Quinn got a quart of chocolate milk from the refrigerator, poured the frothy liquid into a copper pannikin, and put it on a hook over the fire. The rich smell of cocoa slowly permeated the room. When the milk began to steam, Quinn rested the pan on a trivet well away from the flame. Ian swirled in the miniature marshmallows, watching them bob on the surface invitingly while waiting for the mixture to cool.

Quinn poured the hot chocolate into small mugs with Echo Lodge emblazoned in brown on the creamy porcelain. They clinked them with a grin, and tasted their joint creation.

"Ah. Nothing like cocoa after being out in the cold." Quinn was already sporting a chocolate moustache.

Ian started to laugh. "You look very distinguished, Professor."

Quinn chuckled and started to lick it off, coral tongue offering a taste of the pleasures to come. Ian put his forefinger on the ribbon of moist velvet, stopping its motion, and leaned in to finish licking the milk off. He continued his ministrations long after the moustache was gone. Hums of satisfaction, which even the cocoa had not elicited, vibrated through the two of them. Smiling into each other's eyes, they kissed before returning to their drinks.

"This is delicious," Ian said on a sigh. "When we were kids, Monty and I used to scramble to get the most marshmallows."

"Who won?" Quinn said, eyes crinkling.

"Who do you think?" Ian snorted. "Always bet on the sneaky little brother. With five years between us, I had to develop certain...unorthodox...skills to level the playing field."

Quinn chuckled. "Oh, how I wish I'd been there. I can just see you two battling it out."

"Speaking of which, whadya say to a game of dominoes?" Competitive fire lit Ian's eyes.

Quinn grinned wolfishly. "You're on."

The men sat on opposite sides of the lamp table, and clattered the dominoes onto its surface. Ian had the double six tile in his phalanx, so he started play. Strategies soon emerged, as they each tried to discard all their dominoes first. Ian won in a squeaker, lucky enough to have two other sixes to support his opening.

When Quinn began with a three/four piece, Ian assumed he had no doubles, and played into his hands, discarding dominoes which allowed Quinn to get rid of his double three and four tiles. Quinn, of course, won that round.

However, payback was sweet. Ian regrouped by starting the next round with low tiles: a double one, then one/two. Quinn justifiably thought Ian had few higher tiles, and played accordingly, using his own large pieces and gambling that Ian didn't have them. How wrong he was, letting Ian take the round.

By this time, they were growing peckish, so they stopped for dinner. Ski lodges are by nature casual places, allowing Quinn and Ian to keep to their jeans in the dining room.

They got there around 8 pm, to find a large room with floor-to-ceiling windows on two sides, looking out on snowy vistas. It was crowded even at that hour, and the men had to wait at the bar tucked into a corner for a table to become available.

The two ordered hot toddies, and sipped them slowly, legs dangling from their stools. After fifteen minutes, they were called when their window table was ready. Fir trees nestled into a bed of snow in front of them. The contrast of the low light in the restaurant with the gleam of packed snow outside made for a captivating scene.

They started with tomato basil soup, herbed croutons peeking from the broth. Nothing like being warmed from the inside on a frosty day, first by cocoa, then with soup. 

"This tastes just like Mom's," Ian said approvingly.

Quinn savored a spoonful. "Mmm-hmm."

Ian grinned at Quinn's casual recognition; he truly had become a member of the Prentice clan. Ian basked in the new warmth filling him. A slow smile graced Quinn's face when he saw Ian's reaction. He suddenly needed to touch his lad somehow. Pressing Ian's right knee between his own under the tablecloth, he smiled as Ian's grin grew ever wider.

Shepherd's pie came next, the potato crust as delicate as a meringue. The combination of ground beef, gravy, and mashed potatoes exploded over their tongues.

When Quinn closed his eyes in delight, Ian said, "Got to get Amy to send us her recipe." Amy Dahlia Paddington was a second cousin of Ian's, currently studying in Queensland, Australia.

"The sooner the better, Ian."

Ian's eyes twinkled. "I can see that."

Since they were sitting to the side of the window, both men could see the night snowfield. Its serene beauty drew their eyes while they spoke softly.

Quinn asked, "What do you think of Brideshead Revisited, Scoop, and Put Out More Flags for my Waugh seminar next fall?"

"Sounds like a good cross-section. Nice blend of romance and humor." Ian himself had perfected this mix in their private lives. Since their debate on Forster, Ian had accepted that Quinn would go his own way in curriculum building.

"It emphasizes his diversity -- the lyricism of Brideshead alongside his wicked satirical edge."

Ian said, "And while you're lecturing on Sebastian and Charles, I'll be trying to keep the kids awake with Dodsworth, courtesy of Professor Ducre." His colleague's selections for the textbook committee continued to keep Ian's lips looking too kissable for the office, at least in Quinn's opinion.

"Good luck," Quinn chuckled.

By the time the two returned to their room, it was after 10 pm. Quinn lit the fire without adding another log, since he would bank it when they went to sleep. Ian curled up on the couch, while Quinn brought the guitar over and sat as near as its bulk would allow. He started strumming a random flurry of chords.

"What would you like, love?"

"Greensleeves." A wistful acknowledgment of their foreshortened holiday.

The haunting melody drifted through the room, as Quinn's quick fingers skated over the strings. Quinn's eloquence was not confined to words; he poured out a bittersweet blend of their happiness at being together this holiday season, and their regret at its postponement.

Quinn's head was bent over the strings, but he raised it when he felt Ian's intense gaze. Each note became a gift shared, the music a conversation, their communion, until the last vibration disappeared into the quiet of the room. Quinn put the guitar aside, and Ian slid closer, nuzzling into his chord hand.

"Everyone missed you yesterday." Ian's 'but not as much as I did' went unspoken. He nestled under Quinn's arm.

Quinn petted the copper strands under his hand. "I missed all of you too."

"We're throwing a Twelfth Night party this year. Your presents are still under the tree. Now all we need is your presence." Ian kissed him before Quinn could groan. "Join us?"

"What you will." Quinn quoted the subtitle to Shakespeare's comedy, knowing it was one of Ian's favorites. He got the smile he was hoping for, as both of them anticipated the real family Christmas yet to come.

Ready for bed, they undressed quickly this time, eager to slide into each other's arms between the soft sheets. "It's cold. How 'bout warming me up?" Ian said plaintively, pressing into Quinn's delectable heat.

"My pleasure," Quinn murmured, running big hands over his lover's back and arms, while Ian did the same to him. "Better?"

"Much, but I still could be warmer..."

"Could you now?" 

"Mmm-hmm," Ian said, voice melting Quinn like a marshmallow in cocoa.

Quinn pushed Ian back into the sheets with his left hand, and eased on top of him so that Ian was between warming flannel and his lover's hot skin. Then Quinn began to move over him until Ian no longer remembered what it felt like to be cold.

Happy and sated, Ian was all but asleep by the time Quinn had doused the fire and tended to their ablutions. Gathering Ian in his arms under the covers, Quinn followed him into slumber.

The next morning, Quinn woke to a flurry of kisses on his cheeks and jaw. He brushed cheeks with Ian, their stubble rasping deliciously. 

"Sleep well, love?" Ian asked, ruffling Quinn's already messy hair.

Quinn nodded. "Our bed at home is a bigger playground, but it's nice and cozy here." He started to return Ian's kisses and nips, making things even cozier. Although the morning air was chilly, they quickly warmed each other up again.

Showered and dressed, the men unmade the other bed and Ian rolled around in it for a moment before they went down to a late breakfast. They chose a hearty meal of porridge and fruit, perfect to sustain them through the aerobic workout of cross-country skiing. 

When they'd been single, activities like skating and skiing hadn't even crossed their minds, but now that they were together, adventure had entered their lives.

Even bulky layers couldn't hide their athletic builds as the two headed off to the bungalow. The pro there fitted them with cross-country skis, which weighed little to their surprise, bindings leaving the heels free for greater mobility.

The start of one of the trails was only a few yards from the bungalow, so they set off in that direction. It was awkward at first, learning to control the unwieldy skis, but their length gave them more stability than skates.

Sliding over the snow was exhilarating; the sun was out in force and gilded the fields and trees with golden light. It was also hard work; even these seasoned athletes were using unfamiliar muscles which would complain later.

Their world became white, brown, blue, and green filtered through gold; no other colors were needed to complete the winter spectrum. Ian and Quinn moved through it vigorously, cheeks reddening from the kiss of the wind, harsher than those shared in bed earlier.

The men skied side by side on a trail wide enough for three skiers abreast. They'd gone several miles when they saw a snow hare in their path, and stopped to avoid it.

Ian said, "I like this even better than skating." His breath frosted the air around his mouth.

"Me too. There's certainly more privacy," Quinn said, reaching over to kiss Ian, while trying not to get their skis entangled. He couldn't resist running his fingers through the fringes of Ian's scarf.

"If you don't count rabbits, that is," Ian teased, but by then the hare was long gone. 

They glided off again, and about a mile later, their trail intersected another. The men started back down the new path, seeing that it was roughly parallel to the first one they'd taken. Now the two would be able to get back to the lodge with a little change of scenery.

This trail had a slight downward incline, which Quinn and Ian welcomed after their previous exertions. They spotted no more wildlife, and even Quinn was glad of that. It was much harder to control skis, what with their length and slickness, than to simply walk in the snow.

By the time they returned, the two were ravenous from their exercise. It was already mid-afternoon, so they used the facilities, then went to the dining room. They'd missed lunch proper, since it was after 3 pm, but were content to order from the sandwich menu.

While the men waited for their food, they warmed up with peppermint lattes garnished with candy canes. Ian eyed Quinn mischievously, but knew better than to suck on the hard candy in public, for which Quinn was quietly grateful. Soon both of them were heated inside and out, just what they'd needed after skiing. 

They made short work of the sandwiches, and headed back to their room. Quinn hung up their skiwear and started a fire, while Ian filled the hot tub. The men undressed and climbed into the jacuzzi, sitting on the built-in bench and relaxing their overused muscles. Even Quinn could really spread out, since the tub was designed for four adults.

Ian didn't want elbow room, however; after a few minutes of lazing in the water, he straddled Quinn's hips, hoping for a little more turbulence than the jets could produce. And Quinn was happy to give it to him.

He grabbed Ian's hips to steady him, then undulated underneath, making his own waves. Quinn ground out "Ian" in a low voice, hotter than the water, as he picked up speed.

A hitched sigh was the only answer Ian could give.

The hot tub grew even hotter, while the two just went with the flow, heat seeping into their very bones.

The pulsing of the jets roused Quinn afterwards. He licked a bead of water off Ian's nose, and nipped him for good measure.

The men started to wash each other amid many a wet kiss, then dried and donned terrycloth bathrobes provided by the lodge. Ian was beyond relaxed when he got his book and went to join Quinn by the fire. Quinn had pulled together the easy chairs there, and they spent a contented two hours reading in their deep comfort, occasionally brushing fingers or pecking a ripe cheek.

Clean and fed, Ian and Quinn decided to go to sleep early, warm and happy in each other's arms, for which the winter cold was no match.


End file.
